Pyschosis
by Superis
Summary: suicide; CloRith; oneshot — "to perceive is to suffer."


**P**sy_ch_**o**sis.

* * *

**disclaimer;** don't own a thing, just my thoughts.  
**note;** this entire thing is kind of an AU.

* * *

It h u r t s, can you feel the **pain**?

* * *

**H**e is trembling, his fingers resting on the desk. His mind skitters back and forth, thinking, but not allowing thought.

_It hurts because it shouldn't be true. It hurts because it can't be explained, or even understood. It hurts because it's just _false_._

They think he is insane? Of course he isn't. Outrageous. Ridiculous. Laughable. He just _can't_ be.

_It hurts because it's not physical pain. It hurts because it slices into your being, like a thin, cold, steel blade. It hurts because tears don't make it better._

The room is dimly lit. He sits alone in the dark, light filtering in from next door. It's stuffy, warm and suffocating. Suffocation. Exactly what he needs.

_It hurts because you can no longer smile. It hurts because you can't stop remembering. It hurts because nothing can fix it. _Nothing_._

* * *

It a n g e r s; you cannot **reverse** the change.

* * *

He raises one shaking hand to his face and pushes his hair back. He had showered for this 'special' occasion, put on freshly laundered clothes, as well. He's even shaved.

_It angers because_ you don't know what to do_. It angers because how on earth can you fix this? It angers because you have someone to blame._

He stands up, suddenly, knocking over his chair. He moves swiftly to his desk and pulls out the blade he had hidden from Tifa.

_It angers because you _could_ have fixed this, once upon a time. It angers because you are at fault. It angers because it causes such pain - a delicious, decadent pain - that no man will ever be able to explain._

He lets out a low, maniacal laugh as the first few drops of blood hit the floor. It looks as if Marlene or Denzel have simply spilled paint on the floor.

_ It angers because there is no reason - no real, concrete reason - for it. It angers because you cannot control your actions, your thoughts. It angers because you can no longer control anything at all._

* * *

Stabbing, **cutting**, dying - r e v e n g e, it shrieks.

* * *

He's done this before, of course. Allowed himself to be pulled in - drawn in - but this time.. this time..

_It shrieks revenge because it is not only you to blame. It shrieks revenge because it can be sought. It shrieks revenge because it's the only way to cease the hurting._

He's done this before, of course. He has made up his mind - there is no going back now. The hand has writ, and the die has been cast.

_It shrieks revenge because it can be attained. It shrieks revenge because others deserve to know what real pain is. It shrieks revenge because it does not know what else to shriek._

He laughs again, with no humor. It has started to hurt now. He looks to the sky - the murky, overcast sky - and gives thanks for the pain.

_It shrieks revenge because it seems only logical. It shrieks revenge in hope of joy, once again. It shrieks revenge because this is simply how it must be._

* * *

No **longer**, no more, I keep not your s e c r e t.

* * *

He swallows hard. The drip-drop of blood has increased to a steady trickle. It stains his arm pink and red all over. He smiles - an alarming, abrupt smile. 'Pink.'

_I keep not your secret because you are not a hero. I keep not your secret because you are a liar. I keep not your secret because you are a failure._

He does not deserve the praise he receives or the looks of admiration. He deserves ridicule and suffering. Undiluted, painful suffering.

_I keep not your secret because you have betrayed. I keep not your secret because you have deceived. I keep not your secret because you are worthless._

He takes a deep, shaky breath. His vision is slightly blurred now. He sits down, near the window, and watches a lady being mugged.

_I keep not your secret because you are fake. I keep not your secret because you have sinned. I keep not your secret because you are alive._

* * *

**Screaming**, shouting, crying - t or t u r e and tears.

* * *

He continues to delve deeper. He's slightly amazed at the amount of blood. He dislikes blood. Haematophobia?

_There is screaming, shouting and crying because humans are disgusting. There is screaming, shouting and crying because who is allowed to be happy? There is screaming, shouting and crying because there should be nothing else, from now on._

He looks out the window, interestedly, as if there isn't a blade piercing his flesh, and watches the lady scream and thrash about in fear.

_There is screaming, shouting and crying because that is all humans know. There is screaming, shouting and crying because humans no longer know how to smile. There is screaming, shouting and crying because those are the sounds associated with fear, pain and loss._

He looks down at his arm, once again, fascinated and overjoyed at what he sees.

_There is screaming, shouting and crying because it is the only way to make sense of something. There is screaming, shouting and crying because that is all you hear inside your head._

* * *

Cut **open** your chest, spill out those f e a r s.

* * *

He pauses in his activity when he hears footsteps. They hesitate outside his door for a moment, before continuing. Why, of course they don't want to see him!

_The fears spill out because what human is afraid of nothing? The fears spill out because there is so much to be scared of. The fears spill out because they cannot stay within you forever._

He looks about for the lady and her attacker, but they seem to have moved on. Some part of him regrets this. It was oh-so fun to watch.

_The fears spill out because they taint the souls of other people. The fears spill out because there are so many. The fears spill out because you don't know how to keep them inside._

He sighs, digging the blade a little deeper. A shudder runs through his body. He revels in it.

_The fears spill out because it wishes to spread. The fears spill out because that makes them real. The fears spill out because you don't want them inside you, do yo?_

* * *

Echoing l a u g h t e r, hear it again and **again**.

* * *

He wants to do this slowly. Just like the first time he made love to her. Slowly, pleasurably and full of ecstasy.

_The laughter echoes again and again because it no longer subsists. The laughter echoes again and again because it is unreal and melancholiac, to the ears. The laughter echoes again and again because it can._

He lifts the blade to his lips, wanting to taste his own blood. As soon as the scent reaches his nose, he hastily reconsiders. That stench, that same, iron-like stench, reminds him too much of that day.

_The laughter echoes again and again because it can never stop. The laughter echoes again and again because it is fake, now. The laughter echoes again and again because it is a memory._

He observes the wound as if it is not really his. As if he is not the one who created it. He shrugs to himself half-heartedly, and continues.

_The laughter echoes again and again because it maddens. The laughter echoes again and again because you cannot see whence it came. The laughter echoes again and again because it is all you can remember._

* * *

The **smiling**, all the joy - that I f o r e f e n d.

* * *

They had tried to put him in an asylum many a time. It took a great deal of trickery, lying and acting to convince them that he is perfectly fine. It's a good thing they don't know he's so adept at being what he isn't.

_The joy is to be forefended because it is all you know of being happy. The joy is to be forefended because it seems to far away from you, now. The joy is to be forefended because such a thing no longer exists on this planet._

The one time he had somehow ended up in an asylum - perhaps it was that time he decided to ride Fenrir off a cliff and into the sea, just to see if his body could take it? - he hadn't liked it at all. They didn't let you harm yourself and repent for your sins.

_The joy is to be forefended because it cannot be created again. The joy is to be forefended because it is all that remains of the past. The joy is to be forefended because you do not wish for it to ever leave._

And if you do try to repent, they put you into a room that is so quiet, you can hear your blood flow, and all you wish to do is scream.

_The joy is to be forefended because it is all that links you to the angels._ _The joy is to be forefended because it is all you have left. The joy is to be forefended because you cannot get it back._

* * *

It's not **real**, it's f a k e, so slit the the face.

* * *

He laughs at everything these days. Whether it be good or bad, he will laugh. Not because he finds it funny, no. But because it hurts.

_It's not real because it has been murdered. It's not real because it is a lie. It's not real because those whispers do not speak the truth to you._

He had asked, politely, might he add, for everyone to leave him alone. Not only did they decline (impolitely, might he add again), they insisted on checking on him every hour.

_It's not real because it cannot be explained. It's not real because it cannot be rationalized. It's not real because there is no such thing._

He had started his acting the very day they decided to "help him." It took a while, but he is here, now. It may have taken three years, two months, sixteen days and twenty-two hours, but these people - "friends," they call themselves - finally allowed him a little leeway.

_It's not real because it disguises itself. It's not real because it pretends to be one thing, and then another. It's not real because nothing is._

* * *

**Bright**, red blood, it's filled with h a t e.

* * *

Whether they go through the same pain he goes through or not, he doesn't know. He doesn't want to know. Why should he care, anymore?

_It's filled with hate because all things are, nowadays. It's filled with hate because there is nothing else to fill it. It's filled with hate because it's such an overpowering emotion._

He gave up caring, and even questioning, a few years back. He can't remember when, but he fails to see how that holds any importance.

_It's filled with hate because it tastes so bitter. It's filled with hate because it stabs and stabs until you can't feel anything anymore. It's filled with hate because it unsettles, destabilizes and destroys._

He only remembers a few things. Flashes of things, that seem to have great significance in his life. The only significance in his life.

_It's filled with hate because that is all you know. It's filled with hate because there are no other options left. It's filled with hate because there is no love._

* * *

H a p p i n e s s, it bursts from **within** the chest.

* * *

A lock of silky, chestnut hair. The delicate tinkle of laughter. A soft hand, resting against his upper arm.

_The happiness bursts from within because it cannot stay in one place for long. The happiness bursts from within because it's such an unreal emotion. The happiness bursts from within because it had to escape_

An emerald of an eye, shining bright. A glowing, gentle smile. The soft, enveloping warmth of arms around his body.

_The happiness bursts from within because it doesn't want to reside with the negative emotions. The happiness bursts from within because it needs air. The happiness bursts from within because it disappears._

Yeah, he remembers her. He knows her. That flawless woman. That angel. He's doing this for her - just for her. Retribution.

_The happiness bursts from within because it sears the organs with its heat. The happiness bursts from within because it is blinding. The happiness bursts from within because it doesn't belong inside you anymore._

* * *

**Her** face, her eyes - n o t h i n g, no less.

* * *

He thinks the most beautiful thing about her was her smile. It lit up her whole face, like the sun was rising.

_There is nothing because that is all he has. There is nothing because he deserves just that much. There is nothing because it stings to have something, and then lose it._

He can't remember exactly what happened, but he does know it was his fault. All his fault. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, and his eyes flash with triumph.

_There is nothing because why should there be something? There is nothing because it has left you. There is nothing because there is nothing in this world that wants to be near you._

He knows it was his fault, deep inside. The shame burns him. That is such a dirty word, 'shame.' He feels more iniquitous than he ever has.

_There is nothing because there couldn't be. There is nothing because there wouldn't be. There is nothing because there shouldn't be. _

* * *

Can **life** be lived without such j o c u n d i t y?

* * *

He rather hates the daylight. He despises all the sunshine and smiley faces that go by. Fake smiles, of course. There's no such thing as a _real_ smile, in this world.

_Life cannot be lived without jocundity because what kind of life is that?_ _Life cannot be lived without jocundity because that is impossible._

He has converted to a nocturnal way of life, relishing in the quiet darkness of his room. It is almost like having a friend.

_Life cannot be lived without jocundity because the seriousness of it all is enough to kill you alone. Life cannot be lived without jocundity because loneliness would settle in._

He stops, for a while, examining his forearm. His brain is fuzzy, and his eyes can't quite focus. Nearly there.

_Life cannot be lived without jocundity because that is not normal. Life cannot be lived without jocundity because that is not a life at all._

* * *

The **answer** is no, for then, there is no b e a u t y.

* * *

The world has started to swim around him. It feels surreal and dreamlike. He sways in his seat. He needs to die slowly, painfully. Remorse is what he wants to feel.

_There is no beauty because the being personifying beauty has passed on. There is no beauty because there is no longer such a thing. There is no beauty because it is a lie._

He rests his head on the desk, grinning to himself. The 'remorse' hit him like a wave, back and forth.

_There is no beauty because she is dead. There is no beauty because.. she.. is dead. There is no beauty because.. why did she die?_

This question irks him. He shakes his head, muttering to himself for several moments.

_There is no beauty because.. because.. there can't be. There is no beauty because.. you don't.. allow it. There is no beauty because you just don't _fucking_ care._

* * *

No c a r a p a c e shall hide you, no likened **shell**.

* * *

He doesn't deserve to live, he knows full well. This is why he is doing this. No more thoughts, no more thoughts. Oh, Planet, how he does wish to have no more damn thoughts.

_No carapace shall hide you because you are a devil. No carapace shall hide you because none wants to. No carapace shall hide you because they pray for your death._

He calls out for Tifa gleefully, wanting her to see - wanting all of them to see. He hears hurried footsteps. Hurry, hurry!

_No carapace shall hide you because you cannot find one. No carapace shall hide you because there is no such thing. No carapace shall hide you because you do not deserve it._

The door flies open. Silence. Then, a high-pitched scream. He falls off his chair and rolls around in a pool of his own blood, laughing and laughing and laughing.

_No carapace shall hide you because you are not wanted. No carapace shall hide you because you are too evil. No carapace shall hide you because you deserve to die._

* * *

My h e a r t beats for _no one_, I rest in **hell**.

* * *

_**F**in._

(edited: 16/11/09.)


End file.
